


You're Supposed to Be My Paddle

by harleygirl2648



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Bad Therapy, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snark, Unethical Medicine, basically this is every flavor of crack and i took it way too seriously, like really bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleygirl2648/pseuds/harleygirl2648
Summary: Hannibal AU: Mick Rory's getting too deep into his cases for Special Agent Rip Hunter of the FBI. So he is set up into a relationship with actual puppy Dr. Ray Palmer, who just so happens to be a murderer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a crackfic taken very seriously. I am serious; it will get serious. But for now, it's cracky goodness.
> 
> Blame MaryWisdom and AgentMaryMargaretSkitz, they are amazing and they convinced me to start this.
> 
> I highly recommend viewing the character list: https://68.media.tumblr.com/94159085682aa59bd8f0269d10ab545c/tumblr_messaging_otvivcqHoE1s4j9qz_1280.jpg
> 
> Now, this will not follow Hannibal canon to a T (duh) it will have breaks and skips in between scenes and episodes, as I mainly want to rewrite some of my favorite parts. If you're looking for a full canon switch...this isn't that. But I hope you read and enjoy!

“Alright, class dismissed, get the hell out,” Mick announced gruffly to his students, shuffling papers at his podium as they all exited behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He turned around when he heard someone cleaning their throat, to see Special Agent Rip Hunter, head of the Behavioral Sciences Unit, leaning in the doorframe.

“Professor Rory?” he asked. Mick scoffed, adjusting his glasses.

“Mick’s fine,” he muttered, turning away from Rip and this conversation. “What do you want?”

“Well. I’m-“

“I know who you are, get to the point,” Mick barked, sitting behind his desk and adjusting his glasses yet again as he looked over the essays his students had turned in. Rip sighed, moving away from the door in order to approach the desk and sit down in front of him in the opposite chair.

“You heard about the Minnesota Shrike?” Mick nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose. Rip reached forward and adjusted them for him, making Mick flinch a little. “Can I…borrow your imagination?”

Mick sighed, leaning back in his chair, away from Rip. “I mean…I guess. You’re just gonna bug me if I don’t. And I don’t need that shit, so just this once, okay?”

“Just this once,” Rip agreed, and both knew that he didn’t mean it.

 

Mick was driving back to his home in Wolf Trap under the cloak of night, and caught sight of a stray dog wandering aimlessly on the side of the road. Pulling over, and grateful for something to take his mind away from his thoughts. He opened up the trunk and shook a bag of treats, gaining the dog’s attention just enough to get closer and give him a few, scratching behind his ears and looking at its dirty, matted fur. “Hey buddy.”

The dog licked his hand and wagged his tail, and Mick smiled.

He ended up bringing him home, and after a bath to reveal a rusty red fur color, scratched him behind the ears and led him to the back porch as he cracked open a beer.

“Axel, this is everybody; everybody, Axel. Play nice.”

He stayed there for most of the night, nursing a beer, listening to the dogs, and trying to force himself to not have dreams.

 

“Dr. Snart,” Rip nodded to the man as he came up beside him on the walkway.

“Special Agent Hunter,” Leonard replied, a slight smile on his face.

“How’s Lisa?” Rip asked.

“She’s just starting Quantico in less than two weeks, top of her class, you know,” Leonard said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “Of course you do know, Cisco’s probably mentioned her several times. But I know that you’re not here to ask about my sister’s accomplishments, you want something, don’t you?”

“Apt as always, Len,” Rip sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked along. “I’ve got a request, and an inquiry, two in one: it’s about Mick Rory.”

Len looked over at Rip, a knowing look on his face. “And what about Mick?”

“Well, you’re… _friends,_ right?”

“As close to friends as either of us will allow,” Len replied smoothly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I have him on the Shrike case-“

“A mistake already.”

 _“And,”_   Rip pressed, “I wanted to know if you’d be willing to assist with the case-“

“And Mick,” Len added, finishing Rip’s unanswered question. He rolled his eyes. “Rip, he needs someone impartial to analyze him, to give him the right advice for when to stop. He doesn’t listen to me, I don’t listen to him. That’s why we work as colleagues, _nearly_ work as friends, but never as doctor and patient.”

“Do you have someone you could recommend, then?”

Len sighed, stopping their walk to fix Rip with a look. “Yes. I can get one of my colleagues for you, but you need to do something for me in return.”

“Of course, Len.”

Len worked his jaw a bit, then said in a quieter voice. “Don’t let him get too close, okay?”

Rip put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “He _won’t_ get too close.”

 

Mick yawned, scratching at the stubble on his cheek as he made his way to the door of his motel, opening it to find Dr. Palmer standing there, a covered dish in his hands and a dazzling smile.

“May I come in?” he asked, all the energy of a spirited puppy. Mick, still a little bleary-eyed from sleep, let him in without really thinking much of it. Ray came in, practically rocking back and forth on his heels as Mick shut the door behind him. He walked over to the small table and chair set beside the dusty window and took a seat.

“Hungry?” Ray asked, undoing the lid of his dish. Mick shrugged, taking the seat opposite of Ray as he divided the contents of the dish in half. “It’s protein scramble, with peppers and onions and some cheddar. I made the sausage myself.”

Mick stabbed a forkful of the scramble and shoved it in his mouth, nodding once. “Good.”

Ray almost preened at the compliment as he poured them each some coffee out of a thermos. “Thank you. I’d love to have you over for dinner sometime.”

“Just keep it professional, okay?” Mick said, just above a grunt.

“Oh, of course,” Ray readily agreed, having a bite of the food himself. "I'm sorry If I came on a little strong during our meeting in Rip's office, I can't help myself sometimes."

"I don't like being psychoanalyzed," Mick reminded, through a mouthful of scramble.

“Don't worry, I'll restrain myself," Ray said, grinning. "I’d just like to remind you that you don’t have to regard me as your therapist. We’re just having conversations, after all, to keep you on track.”

Mick kept a bored, trained expression on his face as he drank his coffee. “I don’t really find you that interesting, doctor. If anything, you're, pardon my French, fucking weird.”

Ray’s smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. “Maybe you will. You never know.”

 

"it doesn't take sense," Martin said with a sigh, throwing his hands in the air. "If the Shrike is taking organs, why take the thymus, or the pancreas?"

"Could be black market," Jax shrugged, his hip propped against the autopsy table. Mick looked down at the body, his mind flashing back to the image of a girl impaled on a stag head. It hadn't been the Shrike, despite what Rip thought. No, that was...taunting, an invitation to play a game, to engage with a killer. The girl had her lungs removed. Why take only a few organs, why take any?

It hit him, and he reopened his eyes.

"The sweetbreads,” Mick said quietly. Lily looked up from her microscope in surprise.

“What was that?”

“Sweetbreads. Those two organs make up the sweetbreads,” Mick repeated, a little louder as he stood up and ran his gloved hand over the cadaver’s autoposy wound. “That’s why he put the other girl’s liver back. There was something _wrong_ with it.”

“Early stages of cirrhosis,” Jax added helpfully. Mick nodded, eyes far away.

“The meat was bad.” _That_ got everyone to stare at him, expressions of horror starting to cross the faces of the team. He shrugged to give the appearance that he didn’t care about what he was saying.

He did. He really did.

“He’s - he’s _eating_ them.”

 

“Mr. Harrison Wells.”

“Yeah,” the man in question replied on the other end of the line, confused. “Who is-“

“You don’t know me, we have never met and presumably never will.” Ray paused before saying with a thin little smile, _“They know.”_

He hung up the phone then, smiling to himself, and headed back outside to meet back up with Mick, as though nothing monumental had just occurred. As if he hadn't just set a whole chain of events swirling into motion.

 

They were nearly too late when they arrived at the Wells’ house, to find the mother already dead on the front porch, throat slashed. Mick was the first to rush in, gun drawn, only to see that the man they were searching for had his kitchen knife pressed against his daughter’s throat as she was too terrified to even scream at this point. His finger was pulling the trigger before he had even registered what was happening in the scene before him, and it cut Wells’ life short, but not before he cut his daughter’s throat mid stumble. She dropped to the ground and Mick immediately dropped his gun to kneel beside her, trying to cover her wound as she started to hyperventilate. He looked up for a second, panic blurring his vision, to see Harrison’s eyes start to cloud over as a dying smile crossed his expression.

“See,” he breathed out. “See.”

He slumped against the cabinet, the life finally leaving him.

Mick found that he was holding his breath and he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

But he looked back down at Jesse Wells fighting to stay alive and a different set of hands holding the wound in her neck, staining white shirtsleeves red with blood.

It was Ray, and he was talking in a calm voice, “Jesse, listen to me. It’s going to be okay. Do you understand? Everything’s okay now. On three, take a deep breath. One, two, _three.”_

Deep breath from both Jesse, and Mick found himself letting go of his breath as well.

“One, two, three.”

“One, two, three.”

Jesse’s breath stopped becoming quick and shallow, now having something else to focus on. It helped, as she slipped back into unconsciousness as the paramedics strapped her to the stretcher, given her oxygen and taking her to emergency care.

Mick felt cold, and he didn’t know why, trying to resort through all of his emotions as he watched the ambulance drive away in the distance and only being vaguely aware of the business of the rest of the FBI behind him, when a hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to flinch immediately. The hand retreated, and Mick turned to see Ray standing there, his hand raised.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. “You just seemed a little shaken, do you-“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mick ground out, kicking the gravel under him and nearly flinching again when Ray reached out with his handkerchief, but he didn’t touch him. He just wiped the blood off of Mick’s glasses with the damp edge of the handkerchief soaked in a bottle of water. He nodded, “Thanks. You, uh, you saved her life, you know.”

“No, Mick, _you_ saved her,” Ray said, his voice comforting, a smile still present on his face. “She’s still alive because of you, and she’ll be fine.”

Mick finally let a smile pull at the corners of his lips, an attempt to match Ray’s sunshiney expression, even though a dead man and woman were being zipped into body bags and a young woman was still struggling to stay alive. It was a little bit okay now. Ray handed Mick his number.

“Hey, if you need anything, or you need to talk? You just call, okay?”

Mick just shrugged.

 

 

“Come _on,”_ Slade Wilson groaned, kicking hard above his gas petal as though that would fix his problem. He could have sworn that he’d filled up his gas tank before he started driving, but now it was fucking dark and and raining and he had to fucking deal with it regardless. He got out of his seat, slammed the door hard behind him, and shielded his eyes from the raindrops as he got out to inspect his gas tank.

He was using the flashlight on his phone to try and see the damage when suddenly the whole area around him was lit up by blinding headlights. Squinting against the intrusion, Slade heard a voice chirp out: “Need a hand?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Slade groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he inspected the tank, noticing something odd. “Looks like some fucker drilled a hole-“

He looked up to see a very familiar figure illuminated by the headlights.

 

_“Do you have any existing conditions?” Slade asked, sounding bored out of his skull as he collected the blood sample from Dr. Palmer for the insurance statement._

_“None at all,” the doctor replied cheerfully, rolling his sleeve back down. Slade rolled his eyes as he looked disdainfully down at Ray._

_“You know, if you’re lying, you should just tell me know, because I’ll know. I always find out,” he said haughtily. Ray’s eyes shifted for a second before refocusing to his signature smile._

_“May I have your business card please?”_

 

Slade’s eyes adjusted just long enough to see Ray Palmer heading towards him, all semblance of warmth and kindness melting away to a cold, iron glare that resembled that of a predator as he came closer.

And closer.

_And closer._

And _then_... then it all went black.

 

“Yes, hello, Mick,” Ray smiled, wrapping a sirloin in wax paper and placing it neatly in the fridge. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he put the roast in the oven, squeezing the juice of half a lemon over it for the acidity. “I was just wondering if you were available for dinner tomorrow, I want to make sure that you're eating and feeling b… _wonderful,_ we’re having pot roast, if you’re curious. Alright, thank you so much! Have a good evening!” he said cheerfully, hanging up with a sigh of relief. He turned back to his work, cracking his knuckles before picking up his scalpel again.

He whistled  _Edelweiss_ under his breath as he carefully cut out Slade Wilson’s kidneys and soaked them in cooking brandy for later.


	2. Chapter 2

“What are you doing?” Mick asked, leaning against the bookshelf on the upper level of Ray’s office. Ray finished writing his notes with a flourish, and looked up with a bright smile.

“Your psychiatric evaluation,” he stated. “You are totally functional and...more or less sane.”

Mick narrowed his eyes and glared. “Did you just... _rubber stamp_ me?”

“Yep,” Ray said, getting up from his desk so he could lean against it and look at up at Mick. “Could you come down so we can finish the session? I mean, if you want to. We can have it like this if it’s more comfortable for you.”

Mick sighed, heading back down the steps to come back to the chair across from one another he. He sat in one and moved it just slightly back away when Ray sat as well.

“So,” Ray said, after he’d folded one leg over the other and his hands in his lap, no notepad in sight. “How are you today, Mick?”

“Tired,” Mick sighed, leaning back and away in his chair, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Mind buzzing too much?”

“It’s cruel that sleep is supposed to relax you, but your mind stays awake, dreaming,” Mick said, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “This isn’t going to work.”

“What isn’t, Mick?”

“Therapy,” he spat, turning inwardly even as Ray leaned ever so slightly forward. “I know all the tricks, doctor.”

“Then these are just conversations,” Ray offered. “I won’t push anything onto you, you can unload everything onto me.”

Mick didn’t say anything, just looked away, avoiding the eye contact, so Ray put another topic on the table. “How’s Jesse?”

“She’s awake.”

“That's good, isn’t it?” Ray smiled. Mick shrugged.

“You saved her.”

“Not if it wasn’t for you, Mick. You need to stop letting yourself fall into dark places.”

“That's why Rip claims I need therapy. He doesn't want me to go somewhere he can’t follow, because I always bring something back.”

Ray cocked his head, his expression warm. “It’s okay, Mick. You can enter these killers’ heads, but it’s a two-way street. They enter your mind, as well, leave bits of themselves there worming into your psyche.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Mick finally loosens his grip on the arm of his chair.

“Rip wants to be sure that the jolt I got was from saving Jesse, not murdering Wells.”

“How did it feel to kill Wells?” Ray asks.

“Just, I guess. He was going to kill her, but I got him first.”

“How did it feel to save Jesse?”

Mick shrugged again, trying to shut his mind down. “I don’t remember. I just remember - _you.”_

Ray’s expression changes a little. “Me?”

“In the middle of all the blood and the death, you were so calm. You knew what to do, and I couldn't think, period. I pressed my hands over her neck, what if I had killed her? What if I pressed so hard in trying to save her, that I just sped up her death?”

“But you didn’t, Mick,” Ray pressed. “Jesse Wells is alive because of you. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

Mick looked up and finally made eye contact. Ray held it. “What if - what if I _liked_ killing Wells? What does that make me?”

“God kills all the time,” Ray smiled, “And we’re made in his image, no? There's a church that collapsed in Naples, killed half the worshippers during a sermon.”

“Did God feel good about that?” Mick said in a hushed tone.

“I think He felt powerful.” 

Mick nodded.  “I think - I think I felt powerful. Killing Wells,” he sighed, closing his eyes and forcing them back open when blood dripped down into his field of vision. He blinked through the blood, and caught Ray’s smile through it.

He found it in himself to force a smile back.

 

Jesse sat in her living room, in her house, and felt the cold realization that it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Someone had scrawled **CANNIBALS** on the garage door, but Dr. Snart had put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back inside, away from the reminder of what she was.

She liked Dr. Snart. He was pretty no-nonsense about her treatment, keeping Agent Hunter away from her so that she could first come to terms with herself. But he brought over books, with a dedication to a Lisa Snart in the beginning of each. His little sister, he said. She was studying to be an agent, too, and he’d raised her since their father died when he was eighteen. He told her that she was okay, she was safe now. Everything was going to be okay.

Jesse liked Dr. Snart, but she couldn’t really believe that.

They were at her house, ‘they’ being Dr. Snart, Dr. Palmer, and Mick Rory, in hopes that she would be able to adjust back to her old life. That was not going to happen, all the ugliness was on the surface now, she couldn’t be blind to it anymore.

_ “Are we going to reenact the crime?” she asked, rocking back and forth on her heels. “You be my mom-” she pointed to Dr. Snart, “you be my dad-” she pointed to Mick Rory, “and you be the man on the phone,” she pointed to Dr. Palmer. _

 

_ “Hey!” Frankie yelled at the guy staring and talking to them in the woods. She picked up a rock and threw it at him, hitting him the head. “Get lost!” _

_ Even when Dr. Palmer and Mick came outside to bring her back inside, Jesse still heard Frankie’s mom angrily tell her to come inside and Frankie yelling right back at her to fuck off, leave me alone, you bitch! _

_ (She didn’t see Ray Palmer take note of the situation) _

 

God, her head was so _loud._ She couldn't take it. All she could hear were her father’s words:

_ “If we don’t eat her, it’s murder. If we don’t use every part of her, it’s murder.” _

She grabbed the hunting knife displayed in the living room, and cut into the throw pillow beside her on the couch. She cut through the threading and almost screamed as brown hair the color of chestnuts (her hair color) fell into her lap.

She jumped up, turned, and ran smack into the man from earlier.

“Who - who are you?” she gasped, panic rising in her throat, throbbing against the scar. He backed her up against the wall.

“My sister.”

“W-what?”

“My sister, she was impaled on that stag head,” he said angrily. Her throat was closing up, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think- “-She’s dead because of _you!_ She-”

Jesse’s hand reacted first, and she stabbed him right in the stomach. It caught on a snag, and she couldn't pull it out easily, so she was tearing - god she could hear the tearing -

When the knife finally came out, he looked up at her with fading eyes, and a desperate pleading expression, and he fell at her feet, his throat still gurgling.

She was suddenly aware of gasping, hysterical sounds escaping from her throat.

“Jesse?”

It was Dr. Snart, he sounded concerned. She reacted, she didn’t think. She walked up her stairs with blood staining her hands, so in shock that she didn’t know what else to do.

She looked up from her hands long enough to see Dr. Snart come into view, only for Dr. Palmer to see her first. Then, without a second of hesitation, he reared back, gripping firmly onto Dr. Snart’s head and slamming him against the wall, and then ease his collapse to the ground. He touched two fingers to his, neck, nodded to himself, then stood back up again, his expression steely.

“Jesse,” he said in a clear voice. “Show me what happened.”

She was shaking, unable to think straight, but she was able to nod. Dr. Palmer helped her down the stairs and she showed him the body. “I - I - he was going to attack me, he was going to kill me, hurt me, I - I didn’t know what else to do.”

Dr. Palmer nodded, looking down at the body, and his eyes traced over the wound. Then he spoke up, “Jesse, you and I both know this doesn’t look like self-defense. It looks like a murder.”

A cold chill ran down her spine as hot tears brimmed in her eyes, and she was too frozen to move. But then Dr. Palmer laid a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to look up into his eyes.

“But this can be our secret,” he smiled. “We could tell the FBI, or we can just hide the body and forget that this mess ever happened. I’ll keep your secret for you, Jesse. It’s alright.”

Jesse found that a broken smile found its way to the corners of her mouth, and she nodded. “O-Okay.”

 

Jesse called 911 and Rip Hunter, who arrived after the body had been disposed of and Leonard woke up, confused as to what had occurred.

“I just heard Jesse shriek, then bam,” he shrugged, waving away an offer of coffee. Ray explained that the intruder had gotten up the back stairs and knocked him out, but he had gotten spooked when he realized how many witnesses were in the house and fled into the woods. There was a brief search that turned up no results, and Jesse was still hunched in on herself. Mick stood on the sidelines, looking in, but didn’t push away Ray’s hand on his shoulder.

Jesse took a deep breath as she unlocked the door to the hunting cabin the next morning. They were going early to catch an afternoon flight, and she could relax a little. There was nothing in here, there couldn’t be. That life was gone, now, dead and gone, and she needed to trust herself to move forward.

So up the stairs they went, in the darkness of the early morning, and Mick shined his flashlight into the the attic.

It was decorated with seemingly hundreds of antlers, all pointed out like a demented Iron Maiden, all ready for the door to close and the sharp edges in your most sensitive areas, but not enough to kill you. Just enough to make you weak.

But then the flashlight shone on the back wall, and Jesse froze again.

Her neighbor, her friend, Frankie Kane, was there, impaled on the largest pair of antlers on the opposite wall, dead. The blood was still dripping onto the floor.

The shock was felt by everyone in the room but Jesse couldn’t think, again, all she could do was react.

She turned away from Dr. Snart trying to calm her down and let Dr. Palmer hug her, and he told her, once again, that it was going to be okay.

Nobody noticed the twinkling light in his eyes as reassured her over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bumpy chapter, but I needed to get this out to get to the fight next chapter!


End file.
